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THE MAN FROM THE MOON 



THE MAN 
FROM THE MOON 

OR 

THE REIGN OF SELF 



A STORY 
IN RHYME 

For Good Old Boys and Girls 



BY 

P. 0. 



^s** 



5 J\3 



a 



.^- 



Copyright, 1909, 

BY 



HAMUONO PRBSa 
. B. OONKEY OOHPMiT 
OHIOAOO 



(gCi.A2o60 i 



TO THE POST GRADUATES IN THE 
SCHOOL OF EXPERIENCE 

who have witnessed the parade, 
ridden on the merry-go-round, 
been to the show, observed the 
acrobats, ridden the trick mule, 
seen the monkey ride the 
elephant, shot the shutes, and 
bumped the bumps, these rhymes 
are respectfully dedicated. 



The poet Burns hath said: 

"But thin partitions do divide 

The bounds where good and ill reside;'* 

But when we look and search with care 

We do not find partitions there. 

For woven by the loom of Strife, 

Into one fabric made, 

Are all the varied threads of life 

And interests of trade, 

There in the web revealing, 

In the texture, in the shade. 

Every strand of thought and feeling 

Out of which the web is made. 

And there are threads of sin 

And threads of folly too. 

Together w^oven in; 

And when the web is done. 

The good, the bad, the false and true, 

Are woven into one. 



"Self will rule with stern command, 
Nor yield the power to love; — 

The world will ever feel his hand. 
Though cased in silken glove." 

Clown's song. 



OVERTURE 

I phoned to the Castle of Ivy Green Towers 
To send me a muse; but they all were em- 
ployed ; 
Some weaving chaplets of fancy's bright 
flowers 
Plucked in the realms of the mystical void ; — 

Some sat in the twilight and sang of the soul, 
Or chanted creation's wonderful scheme; 

While some kept an eye on a far away goal 
Wrapped up in the mists of a dream. 

Some sang of the love that is tender and pure, 
While some on the violet lavished their 
praise ; 
Some gathered wild flowers on meadow and 
moor 
And tied them together in little bouquets. 

Some of them went chasing light thistle-down 
sighs, 
The soft sad breathings of languishing 
ladies ; 
While some of them sat and kept rolling their 
eyes. 
Wailing weird songs of death and of Hades. 



10 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

Some sat and knit sonnets as tokens of love; 

Some to the anemone poured their devotion ; 
Some sang to the stars that twinkle above. 

And some to the foam tossed up by the ocean. 

Some of them were busy just weaving festoons; 

And others the bubbles of fancy were blow- 
ing; 
While some went sailing in little balloons 

Who never knew where they were going. 

One hot air balloon out adrift on the breeze 
Floated up in the dome of the sky, 

Where a muse in pink tights danced on a 
trapeze 
And curtsied to clouds that sailed by. 

Some went in pursuit of pale glimmering lights, 

Wild will-o-the-wisps of the fen ; 
Some sang sweet songs at inaudible heights, 

All unheard by the children of men. 

Some were at work for the newspaper folks 

Who strove to be jolly and gay, 
Picking up puns, galvanizing old jokes. 

Playing tag with the news of the day. 

While some out afloat on a river of rhyme 

Were drifting along in the wake of a dream. 
They all were employed and never had time 
* To adorn or illumine my theme. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON U 

So a message I sent over long distance phone 
To one of the muses in charge of the stable, 

To send me a Pegasus, — bay or a roan, 

With wings Hke the ones that we read of in 
fable. 

But promptly the muse phoned back in reply, 
That all of the Pegasi, all they had there. 

Were jaded and winded, unable to fly, 

Excepting the one she called the Night Mare ; 

That newspaper bards under contract to fill, 
Day by day, a soul stirring column or more, 

Each used a winged horse to turn a tread mill ; 
And all the winged horses were jaded and 
sore. 

Excepting the Night Mare ; and so I took her. 

That will heed neither rowel nor rein ; 
Sometimes she will fly, sometimes she won't 
stir, 
Then madly chase down each by-path and 
lane. 

And that is the reason my story runs queer ; — 
The muses were busy, winged horses all 
bio wed. 

Excepting the one no mortal can steer, 
Turn from her course or keep in the road. 



12 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

No light but the dim flickering lamps on the 
street ; 

The stars were asleep in the sky ; — 
No rumbling of wagons or trampling of feet — 

Only the Night Watch strolling by. 

The City lay slumbering all quiet and still, 
While I lay awake half adream in my bed 

And odd visions and fancies in spite of my will 
Held a gay mardigras there in my head. 

And fragments of rhyme, bits of old memories, 
The fancies of youth's bright hours. 

Came flitting along — kept buzzing like bees, 
While scenting the fragrance of flowers. 

One busy old bee kept a buzzing to me 

A rhyme of the wind and the old hollow tree, 

The hollow old world and its hollow old 
crew; 
All hollow their ways, and hollow their praise, 

And hollow the things that they do. 

And though I kept winking, yet still I kept 

thinking 
How much of that rhyme is true. 
The clock on the wall kept a talking to me. 

And whatever my fancy said, 
That clock on the wall — it would always agree, 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 13 

And keep on repeating the same words to me 

That fancy put into my head. 
But weary at last of the monotone sound, 

Bo-peep, Bo-peep, Bo-peep, 
I got out of bed with a spring and a bound 

And put that clock to sleep. 

Then the ghost of the clock came and sat on the 

shelf. 
And it worried me more than the old clock 

itself; 
For it whispered its ticks so faint and so low 
That I couldn't hear, though I wanted to know 

What the ghost of the clock was saying. 
I thought about angels and thought about men, 

And thought about monkeys playing; 
I counted a hundred and counted again ; 
But all of my efforts were futile and vain, 

Till at last I fell into, a snooze 
While thinking of something that happened in 
Maine, 

And my thinker went off on a cruise ; 
Without rudder or sail, went chasing a whale 
That had a beer garden on top of his back. 
And had a blue ribbon tied onto his tail ; 
But when the big creature jumped into my 

smack. 
It first was a fairy, and then a canary. 

Then zip and go-bang! 
I was over in China, myself and Melvina, 

Talking to Li Hung Chang. 



14 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

And there were the Boxers, and there was boss 

Croker 
On top of a tiger ; and there was Tsi Ann 

In Purple and yellow. 
And then I was riding along in a smoker ; — 
But when the conductor, half monkey, half 

man, 
A queer looking fellow, 
Reached out for my ticket, I slipped through a 

wicket 
Into a park where there was a fair, 
A fair for all nations on Earth and the Moon, 

People were there from everywhere ; 
And down from the Moon there came a balloon, 
And in it a man built on a new plan, 
Who came to attend the Congress of Nations ; 
Never stopped on the way ; there were no way 

stations — 
Except at Chicago, he stopped awhile there 
To consult the Health Doctor and call on the 

Mayor, 
And also take on a supply of hot air. 

The Doctor's advice, from A through to 
Izzard, 
Was "Open the windows and let in the 
blizzard 
To paralyze microbes and things of that ilk," 
And he had one to show, as big as a lizard. 
He caught swimming around in a bowl of new 
. milk. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 15 

The people, said he, must not drink milk at all, 

Until an M. D., for a penny a quart, 

Has held a post mortem, and made his report ; 




Except from a cow, that can show in her stall. 
An M. D's certificate tacked on the wall. 
Duly attested, to let the world know 
That she's been inspected by Dr. Von Blow, 
Who has tested her lung, and looked at her 

tongue, 
And certifies: — "Ann, or Moll, or Marilla, 
Is now in good health and free from bacilli." 

The Moon-man arose — ^bowed low to the Doc, 
And said he must leave at two by the clock. 
But when he had interviewed Evans and Bussie, 

Filled his balloon and was ready to fly. 
He heard of I Will, a hoydenish hussy, 
Who danced in the ballet while yet she wore 

bibs, 
And chucked Opportunity under the ribs, 

At an age when most maidens are shy. 

'Twas at the salon of his Honor, the Mayor, 
Where above the rattle of schooners was 
heard 



16 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

The voice of the bar-keep shooting hot air. 

He stoutly affirmed — "I Will was the bird 
That always stood pat wherever she stood, 

With her feet planted two feet apart ; 
Who loved to kick just as high as she could, 

And doted on music and art. 
Who, on occasion, might simper and smile, 
But was haughty and proud, and talked so loud, 

Her voice could be heard for a mile. 

The boys of the push all avowed she was sweet, 

Her jewels were rich and rare; 
She put them all on when she went on the 
street, 

And greeted the world with a stare. 
And when she was chided or twitted with graft, 

I Will didn't care ; 
She only just tittered and laughed. 

And wore bigger rats in her hair. 

"I think I must see that marvelous girl," 

Said the Man from the Moon with his head in 

a swirl; 
So he went out to call on that maiden so pert, 
Intending to pay his regards; 
But loitered to see a big fire enjine squirt; — 
Till along came a friend who proffered to take 
His Honor to see the big hole in the lake, 
Right in front of Montgomery Wards. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 17 

They went off together ; but ere they got far, 

A cop hove in sight, by the name of O'Dowd, 
Who, just as they turned to enter a car. 
Asked where they were going. The Moon 

Man replied 
"To the Hole in the Lake;" the friend stepped 
aside, 
Disappeared and was lost in the crowd. 

The Moon Man continued, inquiring of all 
He met by the way, concerning that wonderful 

hole, 
And the home of I Will, intending to call 
At her beautiful palace, the old City Hall. 
But when he arrived, she'd gone on a stroll. 

And no one knew whether 
She'd eloped with the Boss, or George E. Cole, 

Or both of her lovers together. 

Or perhaps, at a banquet of liquified corn, wind 
pudding and fudges. 
She'd been indiscreet, and was now out of 
sight. 
Or may be that in fear of the high Wayman 
who held up the Judges, 
She had retired early and blown out the light. 

The Man from the Moon now found his balloon 

Inflated with sterilized air, 
And rarefied dreams, that swelled out the 
seams ; 

And he knew that the Doc had been there. 

2 



18 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

So, without a microbe, he sailed round the 
Globe, 
And landed next day at the fair. 



THE MAGIC WAND 

This man from the Moon had a wonderful 
charm, 

A strange and magical wand ; 
'Twould banish the devil, abolish an evil 

At only the waive of a hand; — 
Do away with all harm or cause of alarm, 
When people in unison made the demand ; — 
Or when by a thousand or more of a trade, 
Craft or profession, demand should be made. 

The Moon-man was eager at once to begin 
The work of reform, the extinction of sin. 
Unshaken his faith in justice and truth, 
His courage was strong like the courage of 

youth. 
He had not yet learned by experience sad, 
The kinship there is 'tween the good and the 

bad; 
Nor knew he as yet that the wheat and the weed 
Their roots interweave in the soil where they 

feed. 
And always at harvest together are found, 
And in the same sheaves are gathered and 

bound ; — 
Nor that in the field where is growing the corn. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 19 

Lie buried the seeds of weed, thistle and thorn ; 
And ever the rain and the sunlight that fall, 
Giving life to the one, give life to them all. 
We cut down the brambles; we pull out the 

weeds — 
The winds and the birds have scattered the 

seeds ; 
And the warmer the sunshine, more frequent 

the rain. 
The sooner the tares are all blooming again. 

The Moon-man had come to set the world 

right. 
And that he might finish his task before night, 
He hurried away, in haste to begin 
The work of reform, the extinction of sin. 




20 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 



THE MOON MAN AND THE LAWYERS 

He called on the Lawyers who there were in 

session 
Extolling their noble and learned profession 
In words that were grand and sonorous — 
An occasion on which the lawyers agree 
In an "I tickle you, and you tickle me," 

And lustily join in the chorus: — 
That, "while the Lawyers are true to their 

mission, 
Justice is sure, the right will prevail ; 
But the Country would go with a plunge to 

perdition 
The instant the Lawyers let go of the tail." 
The Moon Man approached — he was sure of 

success ; 
With confident air he began his address, 

And told of the magical wand. 
Then made an appeal to that noble profession 
To take it and drive from the land 
All fraud and all evil, all wrong and oppression, 
All bickering strife and needless contention. 
That noble profession in great apprehension 
Sat nervously fidgeting there in their seats, 
As judges sometimes when a lawyer repeats 
■> Or fumbles his logic and law, 
Until an old fellow too genially mellow 
To feel either reverence or awe 
Jumped up and thus curtly but frankly replied ; 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 21 

"O go to the devil ; we'll keep the world level" ; 
And then, sotto voce, said in an aside: 
"We don't want his stick ; it does it too quick ; 
The longer the road is the longer the ride." 
Then the Man from the Moon undaunted and 

calm 
Bade the lawyers good day with a sweeping 

salaam. 




In an aside. 



22 THE MAN FROM THE MOON. 




THE MOON MAN AND THE DOCTORS 



There's no poetry in doctors and diseases, 

Drugs, ill smelling herbs and erysipilas, 
Sprains and fractures, phthisis, coughs and 
sneezes ; 

So, if you like, skip over this. 
Skip and pass ; this is only an emulsion 

Of rhyme and measure pounded into 
blending, 
iWhich to read, you are under no compulsion; 

If you skip, there are no penalities attending. 

The doctors in convention 
Were all gathered there discussing human ills. 

They had a big contention 
About bacteria, the fever and the chills ; 

Were engaged in polemics 
About sore throat, croup, influenza and roup, 

And other epidemics ; 
Splints, lints and turpentine, and also porous 
I* plasters ; — 
Some things to cool the blood, and some to 

make caloric; 
Prescriptions for diseases and disasters, 

And also paregoric. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 23 

How they had progressed! They had learned 
to diagnose, 

To nominate the trouble, though they didn't 
know the dose. 

And they had found the germs, the naughty 
httle worms, 

That wriggle through the viscera of the human 
system ; 
And they had 'em christened!- 

Though when they tried to spear 'em, somehow 
they always missed 'em. 
Yet still they had 'em christened, 

And rattled off their names while he stood 
there and listened. 

The Man from the Moon was posted in phi- 
losophy, 

Had heard a woman there who talked about 
theosophy. 

Had been to seances where ghosts come out and 
walk, 

Seen spirit forms, and heard dead "injuns" 
talk; 

But nothing just like this, never such a chatter. 

He listened; thought they talked of anthro- 
pology 

Or else, perhaps, they talked about mythology, 

Until a doctor there explained to him the clatter. 
Then waiving his wand 

The Man from the Moon began to explain 

How to cure sickness and drive away pain 
Just at the wave of a hand. 



24 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

But not a word more was permitted to utter : 
The doctors began all to spit and to sputter : 
"He wants to take from us our bread and our 

butter. 
We 'never kill the goose that lays the golden 

^gg— 
He who kills his goose will surely starve or 

beg." 




THE MAN FROM THE MOON 25 

HE SEES THEM ALL 

He saw the Eclectics and Allopathists, 

Dietestists, Homeopathists, 
Hydropathists, Osteopathists, 
Surgeons, Dentists, Dermatologists, 

Gynecologists, Phlebottomists, 
Nosologists, Aurists and Oculists, 
Christian Scientists, Chiropodists, 

Neurologists and Alienists — 
All of them philanthropists. 
But at us they shook their fists. 

And answered back with heat, 
That they meant to toll their grists. 

And did not want a wand 
That would grind up all the wheat 

At the waving of a hand. 

The Scientists, they had a charm they said, 
A rosary of words strung on a slender thread, 
And guaranteed to cure a fever or a phthisic, 
Mend a wooden peg, or grow another leg, 




26 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

Or wake the sleeping dead, without one grain 

of physic. 
Disease is but a notion that gets into one's 

head ; — 
People do not die; they only think they're dead; 




"Thinks he's dead." 



And all they need to do is just be blythe and 

gay, 
Give "mortal mind" a twist and think the other 

way. 
A scientist, by means of silent prayer, 
Can stop an aching tooth, turn old age into 

youth. 
Or cover old bald heads with coats of shining 

hair ; — 
One at a time though ; and while they cure the 

soul, 
Mortal mind does not forget to gather in the 

toll. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 27 

HE CALLS ON DOWIE 

And then he called on Dowie, 
The Lord's own chief commander. 

And I will tell you how he, 
This faith cure Alexander, 





Listened to the story, 
The story of the wand. 

Instead of shouting glory, 
He pranced and he cavorted; 



28 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

He ranted and he snorted; 

Then grandly waved his hand; 
And we knew it was no use. 

For Dowie rode on top, 
And Dowie had a goose 

That laid a golden tgg, 
And always let one drop 

When Dowie pulled its leg. 




THE MOON MAN AND THE 
PREACHERS 

The Man from the Moon then went round 
where the teachers 

Of Faith, Hope and Charity met at 
the fair; 
The story he told of the wand to the 
preachers, 
And then they united in prayer. 
*'A11 they who by sorrow and sin are 
enslaved, 
By means of this magical wand, 
Will all be redeemed, their souls will be 
saved 
At only the wave of a hand." 
The preachers clapped hands and 

shouted "Amen" ! 
"Salvation is free"; then shouted 
again : 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 29 



"Salvation is free ; praise be to the Lord ! 
And blessed be He, and blessed his Word" ! 
And then they got thinking: — 
They could not afford 
To save the whole people in one big 

herd. 
So they hemmed and they hawed — 
Kept saying: "Praise Gawd" ! 
But 'twas plain they were vexed. 
And racking their wits for a biblical 
text, 
To frame an excuse, some pretext or 
other. 
Some side track on which they might 
shunt the dear brother. 
Get him away or make him let loose ; — 
Don't know how they did it; but they 

saved their goose. cot thinking. 




30 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 




n\m 



WOMAN'S CLUBS 

He called upon the ladies 
Of all the woman's clubs. 
Trigged out in fine array- 
He found these social hubs 
All whirling in the play 
"Society's reform." 
But the bewitching elves, 
They told him "Go to Hades! 
They wanted no reform 
They did not run themselves." 
For by their moral capers, 
Fighting slums and booze, 
They got into the papers 
Among the "Who-is-whos" ; 
And never were they sadder 
Than when the Moon Man came 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 31 

To carry ofif the ladder 

On which they cHmbed to fame. 

He saw a notice there 

Somewhat obscured by flowers, 

"Please do not trespass here 

On these preserves of ours." 

And there he saw a man 

With a turban on his head, 

"A Prince from Indoostan" — 

So all the ladies said — 

Who made a gracious bow, 

Explained the unexplainable, 

And taught the ladies how 

To attain the unattainable. 

He saw some little creatures 

With strange peculiar features, 

But soft and sleek of fur. 

And of some little lads 

Asked what the creatures were. 

"Them things," replied the lads, 

"That only has one eye ? 

Why, them there things is fads. 

Belong to Miss O Mye." 

Of ladies there, a few 

Compounded from aesthetics 

As pure as mountain dew, 

A species of cosmetics, 

With which they either hid 

Or gave a rosy hue 

To naughty things they did. 

They overflowed with zeal 



32 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 




For what is good and true, 

And for the common weal. 

They had a lofty aim, 

And always pointed high 

At some celestial game 

They saw up in the sky. 

But they did not want the charm ; 

For the wand they had no use. 

They rallied in alarm 

To save their little goose. 



HE APPEALS TO THE 
JUDGES 

He called on the judges, wise men of high 

station. 
All dressed in black gowns and wearing big 

wigs, 
There sitting en bank and, in deep cogitation. 

Inspiring great awe; 
Devising more ways to make lawyers dance 

jigs, 
Legal contortions, the cause of abortions 
In justice and law. 



And while we were waiting a lawyer rushed 

out 
His face flushed with anger, and I heard him 

shout : 

"The pompous old fudges 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON '33 

Make use of spy glasses just hunting up 

quibbles, 
While justice they deal out in very small 

dribbles. 

We ought to have judges 
With some breadth of vision, who know that 

the law 

Is not to be quirked 
Or turned from its course by some petty flaw 

Or trick that is worked. 
They miss the plain sense, on the letter lay 

stress ; 
A jungle of precedents hinders their view; 
The law they conceive as a play of finesse 
Like Japanese game of jiujitsu. 
The rules of procedure they turn into snares, 
And, Justice is caught in the technical noose, 
While judges adept in the splitting of hairs 
Are ever alert to find legal excuse. 
And he who appeals to the court for redress. 
He watches, he waits, while the years roll 

away ; 
And all that he gains in the game of finesse 
Is wasted, or lost in the end, by delay. 
They fumble their calendars, plan and contrive 

Your case on some call to dismiss ; 
You never can tell when the time may arrive, 

They'll serve you with justice like this. 
The man with a pull though, may bet on his 

toss; 
For even the judges kow-tow to the boss." 



34 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

"The slippery old fakirs, they fuss and they 
fumble, 

And some of them shirk. 
The lawyers don't like it, they fret and they 
grumble, 

But most of them work. 
The pokey old codgers have so fiddle-faddled, 
Though the goose is alive, the eggs are all 
addled." 




The Moon man approached, and he bowed very 
low. 

"Your Honors," said he, 
"To right, truth and justice devoted, I know 

Will listen to me." 
And then he discoursed of the wonderful 
charm 

Of the wand that he bore. 
The judges grew restless and showed their 

alarm ; 
For it was like nothing they'd heard of before; 
And one fuddy fuddy. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 35 

Who for thirty long years had sat at the 

fountain 
And kept the pool muddy. 
Who knew no distinction 'tween mole hill and 

mountain, 




Said, "Can you some precedent cite?" 
From precedents sir, we do never depart ; 

We thereby make sure zve are right, 
We follow the trail of our grandfather's cart. 




The Man from the Moon then made haste to 

depart, 
And the judges rode on in their grand-daddy's 

cart. 



36 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 



HE SEES THE NEWSPAPER MEN 

The Man from the Moon now gave his atten- 
tion 
To newspaper men who there in convention 
Were gathered; — about three acres 
Of editors, writers, reporters and fakirs. 
They listened, took notes as paper men do — 
The best of attention until he got through. 
And then they arose in the wildest uproar 
And all tried at once to get out at the door ; 
And every man ran with a shout and a whoop 
To beat all the others and send in a scoop. 
Then raucous and loud came the newsboy's 

shout : 
"Here's your Daily Alarm and Evening Blow 

Out." 
"Latest edition" — The Moon Man took two, 
One of them pink, the other one blue, 
And scanning the head lines over he read : 
"Great Railway Disaster, Twenty-Three 

Dead"; 
"England and Prance Preparing for War"; 
"Miss Van Tassel Blopes with the Prince of 

Jahore" ; 
"Dr. Hopkinson Shadd says the Ladies Get 

Drunk; 
And Pulpits are Pidl of Rusty Old Junk" ; 
"Coyotes and Weasels, — Score Seven to Ten" ; 
"Professor von Skeesics is Talking Again" ; 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 37 

"The Kaiser is Captured by Bandits in Greece," 
"King Edward Arrested by Irish Police"; 
"Dazed by the Lime-light, Monseignieur kicks 

high, 
The Toe of his Boot makes a Hole in the Sky; 
And Twenty-nine Millions will have to be Paid, 
To Cover the Hole Monseignieur has Made." 
The Moon Man read on in silence awhile, 
Then looking away, with a weary, sad smile, 
Said aloud to himself : 
"The men who are shapers of thought and 

opinion, 
The men who run papers and wield a dominion 
Over the grandest domain in the world. 
Hurling their spears and javelins at sin 
Wherever the lance of free thought may be 

hurled, 
Making a fearful and deafening din, 
You think it must be that they're fighting the 

devil, 

Or at least are pursuing 
Some one of his imps, some monster of evil, 
At whom they all shout and incessantly rail; 

But what they are doing 
Is whooping the hounds on an anise seed trail. 
At every tame goose they go banging away : 
They fire in the thicket at every blue jay, 
At every tame bunny that crosses the track : 
Don't care for the game — they're after the 

crack. 



38 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

Reform ! You think they are eager at once to 

begin it; 
But they shout reform for the noise there is in 

it; 
Not that some evil they seek to destroy, 
But that themselves they may keep in employ. 
They kill the devil? or drive him away? 
Wouldn't give him sick leave for half of a day. 
What a strange world ! Everything is so fixed 
The good and the bad are all tangled and 

mixed." 



HIS LAST APPEAL 

The Moon Man's appeals as yet had been vain, 
For every profession made answer the same ; 
Some motive of self shaped the life of each 

man, 
And ran through and through the entire social 

plan; 
And though hid by the woof of fancies' bright 

dreams. 
Was plain to be seen in the raveled out seams, 
Where the hard twisted threads of the warp 

were revealed. 
That the fluff and the sheen of the woof had 

concealed. 
Even Religion had self for its goal. 
Every man scheming to save his own soul 
From a menacing spectre that dwelt in the 

clouds 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 39 

And took men in charge when they got in their 

shrouds ; 
Whose favor they ever were striving to win, 
Not by foregoing the profits of sin, 
But by converting the Turk and Hindoo, 
Chastising the skeptic and baiting the Jew, 
Bewaihng their sorrows, their troubles and 

cares. 
Counting their beads and muttering their 

prayers 
To an Ogre so jealous, self-centered and grim, 
Every soul was constrained to pay tribute to 

him. 
So to an unseen impalpable ghost 
Men bowed and paid homage, a myriad host ; 
And cringing in fear of his chastening rod. 
They slaughtered each other defending their 

god. 
The sinner, in fear for the peace of his wraith. 
Fell in the procession and joined in the faith ; 
The vilest of sinners knelt down and confessed. 
Jumped in the band wagon and rode with the 

rest; 
Rode to escape from the merciless ire 
Of the Czar in the clouds with his furnace of 

fire. 
Where the soul of the skeptic who ventures to 

doubt 
Is roasted forever and never gets out. 
And men were afraid lest a flaw in belief 
Might anger the Spectre and bring them to 

grief. 



40 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

So smothered their doubts, or hid them away 

And viewed them askance with a wink, 

Gave no heed to what reason might say. 

And never dared venture to think ; 

But bowed to the ghost that scowled in the sky, 

Accepted the creed and never asked why ; 

For the weak in the faith, who faltered and fell, 

Were banished by solemn decree, 

Imprisoned in Hades like frogs in a well, 

Until the good priest with indulgence to sell 

Secured their release for a fee. 

The gates of Heaven were closed and barred ; 

No skeptic could ever get through ; 

For vigilant priests were mounted on guard ; 

The guard never slept and never withdrew. 

But when an old rounder was shrived of his sin, 

By Father O'Leary or Father O'Rouke, 

He had no trouble at all to get in 

On a pass from a friend of the Spook. 

The Man from the Moon nid-nodded his head 

As he talked to himself. "This world," he 

said 
"Is a very queer world where cunning and craft 
Harness the ghosts in the service of graft ; 
Where all talk reform, but never agree, 
Since each for himself prefers to be free. 
In a strenuous life they prey on each other. 
Each wanting reform but to hobble his brother. 
Each eager to strike every species of pelf. 
But wanting no change that might hinder him- 
self ; — 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 41 

Wants his neighbors dehorned; for then there 

would be 
More room for himself at the trough; — 
He wants reform, but will never agree 
To have his own antlers sawed off." 
The Man from the Moon was sore and per- 
plexed, 
In doubt what to do, or where to go next. 
But hearing just then of a meeting of builders, 
Carpenters, masons, painters and gilders. 
Met to consider the wrongs they endure. 
Capital robbing and grinding the poor, 
The Moon Man addressed them and told of the 

wand 
For these evils a cure. 
And how, at the waive of the hand. 
Homes would arise for the rich and the poor, 
And buildings majestic and grand! 
And there would be dwellings for all ; 
And nothing to pay. 

"What, nothing to pay ? Nothing to pay ?" 
They shouting replied from all over the hall, — 
"Nothing to pay?" 

Two hundred or more, in a concert of blab. 
Stood out on the floor and shouted "scab, 
scab" ! 

The Moon Man said no more, they all began to 

scoff. 
And climbed upon the stage intent to pull him 

oflF; 



42 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 




They gathered round the Moon Man, each 

eager to get to him, 
And striking wild and fierce they ran their fists 

right through him, 
And landed on the other side, each on a solid 

brother. 
So, aiming at the man of mist, they pounded 

one another. 
Each thinking that the Moon man was striking 

straight at him. 
While Mike was pounding Pat and Pat was 

thumping Tim. 
And thus the builders fought and won, and so 

were quite content. 
While Capital looked on and smiled ; for Labor 

pays the rent. 



THE MAN FROM THE M00l\ 43 

Just what the Moon Man thought of this I 

never heard him say, 
For in a form of floating mist the Moon Man 

blew away. 

I saw the Moon Man blow out at the door, 

And quickly pursued, but saw him no more. 
I wandered about in eager pursuit, 

In search of the strange, mysterious guest, 
And heard, as I passed, the sound of a lute. 

I entered a hall ; suspending my quest, 
I sat for a time in the midst of a throng 

That always clapped hands at the end of a 
song. 




A minstrel sat strumming a banjo awhile. 
Keeping time to the tune that he picked on 
the strings; 



44 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

And then, with a broad Senegambian smile, 
And many flip-flops, contortions and flings; 

Sang three or four stanzas of doggeral verse ; 
And these are the hnes that I heard him re- 
hearse : — • 

"hitchin to a hole in The ground/' 

Away out dar on de Arizona plain 

Whar trees don't grow, for it seldom ebber 
rain, 
Whar de plain reaches out to de sky all aroun, 

And dar's not a fence nor a post to be foun, 
De cowboy dar, when he gwine to take a nap. 

He des tie a knot on de end ob de strap, 
And right whar he stan, on de berry same spot, 
Cut a hole in de ground ; den he drop in de 
knot, 
De plug on de top, and he den stamp it down, 
And de boss, it am hitched to a hole in de 
groun. 
De waxum soil dar, it hoi him so tight. 

He can't get away though he pull all his 
might. 
Dey calls dat a hitchin to a hole in de groun. 

Dar was a man had a silber mounted saddle, 
Flung it on a donk, and he rode away a 
straddle ; — 
Goin to de White-house, dat's what he say ; 
And he rode and he rode; but he rode de 
odder way. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 45 

Rode way out on de bad Ian plain 

Whar nuffin ebber grow, for it seldom ebber 
rain ; — 
Rode and he rode, and he nebber look aroun 

Till he hitch dat donk to a hole in de groun. 




Who am dat man, banjo aint a gwine to say; 
But he done hitch de donk and he can't get 
away ; — 
All he can do is to paw and to bray, 
Away out dar on de bad Ian plain, 
Whar nuffin ebber grow, for it seldom ebber 
rain. 
Des hitched out dar to a hole in de ground. 

Poor ole donk ! poor old donk ! hab'nt any hay, 
Nebber break de strap and he can't get 
away. 
All he can do is to paw and to bray, 
Away out dar whar de streams run dry, 
And de prairies are panting for rain, 



46 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

And de silber dome ob a cloudless sky 

Hang ober de sun parched plain — 
Des hitched out dar a pawin in de ground. 




Big fat man went a foolin aroun 

Huntin for de donk, but de fat man foun 
Nuffin but de tail sticken out ob de groun ; 

But de tail keep a floppin, and de tail say to 
Grober : 
"Sixteen to one, sixteen to one," ober and ober; 

Away out dar whar de silber moon 
Hang ober de track ob the hot monsoon; 

Whar de coyotes cry and de prairie dogs 
howl, 
Den cuddle in togedder wid de snake an de owl, 

Des chucked in de hole dat he pawed in de 

groun. 
^ ^ i/^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 47 

A shining black minstrel then danced to the 
fore, 
Sang a gay song, then one or two more ; — 
And this is the song that he sang for en core: 

PUNCH AND JUDY. 




A Punch and Judy sparring match 

It come one year in four ; 
And den dey knock and bite and scratch 

And poun each odder sore. 

Punch for protection firmly hoi, 

An Judy for free-trade, 
Also for silber shout an scol 

Until dat play am played. 



48 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

"Down wid de Trusts" ol Punch he shout, 
And Jude, she shout de same. 

Ol Punch and Judy turn about! 
Dem people watch de game. 

An des to hear dem puppets talk, 

An see dem puppets fight, 
Dem people all stan roun and gawk 

From mornin unto night. 

But dar's a man behin de screen; 

An when a puppet squeak, 
Aldo dat man am seldom seen, 

It am de man dat speak. 

He make dem puppets bounce an flop. 

Make Judy rant an tear ; — 
Ol Punch, he make him jump on top 

An tousle Judy's hair. 

Dat man to whom I now alude. 
He make dem puppets fight. 

For in his lef hand he hoi Jude 
And hoi Punch in his right. 

And so dis Punch and Judy riot:— 

Ole Money-bags, you know, 
Des to keep dem people quiet, 

He run dis puppet show. 

^F 'T* *!* ■!* 'T ^ 

And then a minstrel grey and gaunt 
Came out and sang: 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 49 



TOTING FOR THE ELEPHANT. 




v<f fj;* t/UX:iep/tavth, 



When I was a confiding lad and wonders yet 

were new, 
And I believed the stories of the flaming posters 

true, 
Out watching for the Elephant, I waited half a 

day, 
And then I saw the Elephant about a mile 

away ; — 
And Oh, but I was happy when the band began 

to play! 



50 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

And I made up my mind right then that I would 

see the show, 
But wouldn't tell my daddy lest he might not 

let me go. 
So I slipped off and ran away; but when I 

found the tent, 
My pocket-book was empty and I didn't have a 

cent. 

I asked the boss "could I go in"? The boss 

said : "If I could 
Tote water for the Elephant" — Of course I 

said I would. 
And so I toted water for the Elephant to sip. 
Until I'd brought enough, I thought, enough 

to float a ship. 

And then I humbly asked the boss : "How much 

does Jumbo drink?" 
The boss, he made no answer; but I saw the 

fellow wink. 
And so I toted water till my back began to ache ; 
Then humbly asked the boss again how much 

he thought 'twould take; 
I didn't mind a tub or two, but couldn't tote the 

lake. 

And then the boss, he said to me, "Just run 

along my sonny, 
Tote water for the Elephant, unless you have 

the money." 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 51 

And so I toted water for the Elephant to 

drink ; 
I toted and I toted ; but I couldn't fill the sink. 

And so I've found it ever since; — 'tis "run 

along my sonny, 
Tote water for the Elephant" ; Unless you have 

the money. 
With men the same as little boys who don't 

save up their chink, — 
They all are toting water for the Elephant to 

drink. 



On easy payments they begin; they have no 

cash in bank, 
And toting for the Elephant they must fill up 

the tank. 
You're toting for the Elephant whenever you 

pay rent. 
And toting for the Elephant you pay your cent 

per cent. 
And so, forever toting on, grow weary, old and 

bent. 

You tote and tote and trust at last the boss may 

let you in 
To see the strut and swagger of the painted 

harlequin, 
And see the gilded chariot go racing round the 

ring; 



52 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

But still the boss keeps calling, and silent voices 

sing: 
"J«st run along my sonny, every bucketful you 

bring." 




Professor Abner Darwin Jones 
Then gave a recitation. 

THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST, 

In a neglected garden grew 
All alone, and fair to view 

A tender fragrant flower. 
But in the soil there lay the seed 
Of every kind of noxious weed ; 
And warmed by sunshine and by 
shower, 
The weeds came pushing through. 
There came the Mullen and the 
Dock, 
And came the Rag-weed too. 
The weeds were strong; they grew apace, 

Such sturdy growth they made, 
The flower grew pale and wan, and soon 

Stood drooping in the shade. 
Then to the Rag-weed said the Dock 
"Indeed it gives me quite a shock. 

To see our gentle friend the Flower, 
So early droop and fade." 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 63 

The Flower heard and breathed a sigh, 
And gently then made this reply: 

"The reason is quite plain to see; 

You lusty weeds o'ershadow me" ; 
You spread your roots and branches round, 

Shut out the sun, shut out the dew, 

As though this world were made for you ; 
You cover all the ground." 

Then said the Mullen to the Dock : 

"Our quiet friend must hustle ; 
I never hear her make a stir, 

I never hear a rustle. 
It is the strong that live and thrive ; 
Always the fittest do survive. 
Our friend must do as we do, strive; 

Our little friend must hustle". 

So spake the Mullen to the crowd — 
For Mullens all are frank — 
To give assent the Rag-weed bowed ; 
The weeds grew tall and rank ; 

And underneath their clammy shade, 
The earth was cold and dank. 

The Flower faded day by day. 

Drooped and died and passed away. 
The Rag-weed, Mullen and the Dock 

Survived and bloomed and stank. 



54 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

Then came an old man with white flowing hair 
Whose smile danced a waltz with the wrinkles 

of care. 
He sang a queer song, and sang in a tone 
Half gay and half sad, a laugh and a moan 
Commingling in one. He ambled along, 
And then, in these words, concluded his song: 



THK TOLL GATES. 




In Rome we do as Romans do; 

We kiss the pontiff's toe; 
^nd still the traveled way pursue 

As on through life we go. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 55 

'Tis true, my friends ; — if you would like 

To reach the happy goal, 
You all must travel on the pike, 

You all must pay the toll. 

For selfishness stands at the gate, 

To gather toll his trade; 
And even Mercy there must wait 

Until the toll is paid. 

And through his gate no one may pass, 

Who bears an empty purse; — 
The priest is paid for saying mass. 

The tollman halts the hearse. 

And many gates are on the way; 

At each a tollman stands, 
Who, even while he kneels to pray. 

Keeps holding out his hands. 

Though while his eyes are upward rolled 

He sees you not, but when 
His palm is crossed with coin of gold. 

The gate swings open then. 

O many gates are on the way. 

At each a tollman stands. 
Who, even while he kneels to pray, 

Keeps holding out his hands. 
* * * 



66 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

The minstrel bowed at the end of his song 
And turned to go ; but a clamoring throng 
Called the old man back. He came with gentle 
grace, 

A smile playing over his care wrinkled face, 
And then, in a far away lingering tone, 
Like one who sings to himself all alone, 
He sang this song: — 

THE OI.D man's song. 

Far o'er the wide expanding plain 

Light hearted buoyant youth, 
Now gazing, looks and looks again; 

And there, in very truth, 

He sees the mountains looming high, 

The verdure on their slopes, 
And just beyond, a painted sky, 

The sunrise of his hopes. 

The mountain seems so very near. 

So short the way between, 
He bounds away with hearty cheer 

To climb its slopes of green. 

The woodland bloom with fragrance fills 

His pathway through the glen; 
His song, re-echoed from the hills. 

Comes laughing back again. 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 57 

And then across the plain he sees, 

As far as sight is borne, 
The hill tops and the clustered trees, 

That hill and vale adorn. 



But just beyond, in clearer light, 

He sees the shining goal, 
And thinks, to reach that mountain height 

Is but a morning's stroll. 

But there are things he hath not seen. 
Though bright and clear the morn — 

The sterile sands, the deep ravine, 
The bramble and the thorn. 

For underneath the glittering sheen 

Of morning's rosy light, 
The long and winding path between 

Lay hidden from his sight. 

So he goes singing on his way, 

And shouts a glad refrain; 
But sinks to rest at noon of day, 

Still on the level plain. 

Revived again, he trusts, ere long, 

That mountain slope to climb ; 
But sings no more the gladsome song 

He sang at morning's prime. 



58 THE MAN FROM THE MOON 

And when the sun is in the West 
And half way down the sky, 

He looks upon that mountain crest 
And checks a rising sigh. 

Still trudging on at eve of day. 

He weary is, and worn; 
That mountain seems as far away 

As when he looked at morn. 

The sun goes down ; on comes the Night ; 

The way is long between; 
He will not scale that mountain height 

Nor climb its slopes of green. 

Upon the plain he lies asleep, 

The clouds go drifting by ; 
Their trailing shadows o'er him creep, 

The Night winds moan and sigh. 



The old man retired ; the orchestra played, 

And then I withdrew ; for I was afraid 

The Man from the Moon would escape if I 

stayed. 
The search I continued all over the ground ; 
But of the Moon Man no trace could be found ; 
And no one knew in what manner he went. 
I found his balloon ; it was changed to a tent ; 
Within was a show; 



THE MAN FROM THE MOON 59 

A throng of ten thousand encircled a ring 

Where a painted clown 
Stood bowing and waiting, and ready to sing ; 

And he sang this song: — 

THS song 01^ THE CLOWN. 




"This world Is all a fleeting show 

For man's illusion given." 
So sang the poet long ago, 

To this conclusion driven. 

The clown has been behind the scenes; 

He knows the mystic lore. 
Knows how they make up kings and queens, 

And make the thunder roar. 



60 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

He knows the way the play is played, 
Has worn the gilded crown, 

And coat all decked with tinsel braid, 
Seen Fortune smile and frown. 

And now he tells you while he sings, 

That queens are made of gowns; 

That angels all wear paper wings, 

And kings are made of clowns. 
* * * 

Always through scenes of toil and strife 

It is his fate to roam ; — 
The clown, he leads a wandering life ; 

He makes the world his home. 

He mingles with the passing throng ; 

He gayly plays his part. 
And ever sings a merry song 

To cheer the weary heart. 

And though at times a sober strain 
May thread his rhymes along ; 

And though, sometimes, a sad refrain 
May creep into his song. 

Yet still, the old and battered clown 

Will strive to do his best. 
And help this sad old world to drown 

Its sorrow in a jest. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 



61 



OI.D DOC BROWN. 

Old Jones falls down 
And sprains his back : — 
He calls in Doctor Brown, 
A glib old quack, 
Who tests his lung. 
Inspects his tongue 




And looks tremendous wise. 
And poor old Jones 
Lies there and moans 
While Doc looks on and sighs. 
With right good will 
Jones takes a pill 
And every day takes four, 
With greatest punctuality, 
And every night three more. 



62 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

That is the way, you know, 

Although in reality, 
The pills are made of dough ; — 

And so the doctors do. 

When Jones gets well 

He loves to tell 
How old Doc "pulled him through. 




The old, old play. 

The doctor and the pill. 

The world is run that way ; 

And Jones, he pays the bill. 
* * * 

Men will get tight, 
And then they fight; 
And that is right; 
For men were made that way. 
Then in the jug 
They go ker-chug, 
Each ugly niug, 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 63 

But don't have long to stay. 

Some lawyer bright 

Hears of that fight, 
And they are out next day. 

And that is right ; 
'Tis but a splash of spray, 

A broken rift 

Of foam and drift, 
The wind and waves at play. 

And what were life 

Without its strife, 
Its eager throb and thrill, 

Its surge and splash, 

Its dare and dash — 
Without its San Juan hill. 
* * * 



64 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 



THE REFORMER. 




Erect upon a big white horse 
With flowing tail and mane, 

He splurges round the quarter course 
And then goes round again. 

He loves to trail across the mead 

And toot his hunting horn; 
To ride a prancing foam flecked steed 
And trample down the corn. 

He loves to hunt the OCTOPUS, 
So big and fierce and black ; 
Fire his resounding blunderbuss; 
He loves to hear it crack. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 65 

He loves to shoot, he loves to toot; 

And shout the brave defy. 
And all trigged out in grand array, 

Adorned with sash and big cockade, 
Adown the line on muster day. 

He loves to ride on dress parade 
And give the crowd the grand salute, 

As he goes prancing by. 
* * * 

Thus love of self supplies the spring 
That makes the wheels go round, 

And vanity is but the key 

With which the spring is wound. 



THE FAKIRS. 



Some measure of fiction doth help to advance 
Scheme of religion or scheme of finance — 
We like the wine better when told it's from 
France. 

In ways of the world a man may be wise, 

Yet hunt up a fakir to pilot the skies, 

And trust him the more for his marvelous lies. 

The crowd must have leaders like Dowie or 

Moses 
Who understand how to put rings in their noses, 
And lead them and guide them where figs grow, 

and roses. 

5 



66 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

The truth we revere and adore ; but alas ! 
The people will bow to an image of brass. 
Hear the voice of the Lord in the bray of an 
ass. 

Give faith to a story that mystics have told, 
Chase after rainbows for kettles of gold, 
And follow the fakir like sheep to the fold. 

While reason and sense with candor may plead 
Some "friend of the Lord" will bounce in the 

lead, 
Whose trumpet's loud blare the people will 

heed ; — 

Some Eddy, Joe Smith or Dowie or Teed; 
And the noblest religion can never succeed 
Unless some alloy be mixed in the creed. 

And though you may think that my notion is 

quaint. 
Yet when he is dead and memory faint, 
The fakir may pass for a very good saint. 

For many a saint, if measured and weighed, 
Would be found to be only the lingering shade 
Of one who, alive, was a fakir by trade. 

A Fakir, though not a bad shepherd for that, 
Who, luring his flock to pastures fat, 
Dipped phantom salt from an empty hat. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 67 

The Clown Makes A Sonnet. 

With downy feathers dropped from Fancy's 

wing 
Faith builds her nest, wherein she rears her 

brood, 
Bright plumaged Hopes, that ever chirp and 

sing 
The cheery notes that through hfe's forest ring, 
To keep the traveler in helpful mood 
As through the lonely glen of solitude 
He wends his way to life's Eternal Spring — 
Along the traveled path where Reason stops 
To note each bud and bloom with curious eye, 
And into every hidden secret pry, 
Faith builds no nest, but in sequestered copse 
Where meddling science rarely passeth by. 
And here she rears her brood till "fleet and 

strong" 
They fly away to fill the world with song. 

WHAT The wagon SAID. 

When you hear a wagon screech, 

As some old wagons do, 
It is the wagon's speech. 

That wagon talks to you. 
Talks on and on without surcease; 

And many a squeaking byke 
Is calling out for grease 

As it goes down the pike. 



68 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

So when a cop comes fierce and gruff, 

Grouchy, loud and talking rough. 
Don't get hot, 

Don't lose your head. 
But just remember what 

The wise old wagon said. 
For if to court you fare 

Like a confiding goose, 
They'll surely pluck your feathers there 

Before they turn you loose. 

JUSTICE IN CHICAGO. 

Did you ever watch the law go 

Dealing justice in Chicago? 
Grand procession, plumes on the hearse! 
A splendid show, moving slow — 
All comes out of the dead man's purse. 

Ever have a case on call. 
Six long weeks through Summer and through 
Fall? 

Ever drive a balky mare 
'Long a swampy road through mud and slush, 
Have her stop stone still and just stand there 
In the mud, when you were on a rush? 
Ever see a man who had chorea? 
Then, perhaps, you may have some idea 

Of the way they make the law go 

Dealing justice in Chicago. 

Ever run the gauntlet of the law ? 
Years of waiting, quibble quirk and flaw ? 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 69 

Where behind a mask of rules 
The cunning craftsman plies his tools, 
Or prowls the legal byways and commands 
Belated Justice to hold up her hands? 
Did'st ever run that gauntlet through, 
And then the gauntlet of review 
In tribunal of Appeals ? 
A quibble in the slot device 
Full of hidden springs and wheels, 
So automatic and precise 
A verbal flaw or petty quirk 
Dropped in the slot will make it work? 
That's the way they make the law go 
Dealing justice in Chicago; — 
Grand procession, plumes on the hearse! 
A splendid show, moving slow ; — 
All comes out of the dead man's purse. 



THE NEWSPAPERS. 

Tramping through the ooze, 

Chuckling with delight. 
Gathering the news 

Of a brawl or a fight, 
A story of fraud 

A fire or a flood, 
Escapades of a bawd, 

Or a story of blood. 
Seeking after sorrow 

And sin to proclaim 



70 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN. 

Then hawking tomorrow 

A story of shame. 
Ruthless and unheeding, 

Chasing after gain, 
Coining into pennies 

The world's cry of pain. 

They shriek and they howl. 

And they print day by day, 
The hoots of an owl 

That is hooting for pay; 
An owl in a cage 

That sits there and blinks. 
Looks like a sage 

And thinks that it thinks ; 
But hoots either way 

As the manager winks. 

They watch for the gales, 

They reef and they tack, 
Keep shifting their sails, 

Go forward and back, 
And eager to please, 

They always keep going 
The way that the breeze 

Appears to be blowing. 

Always with the Nation 

There's something the matter. 

To find a sensation 
And keep up a clatter. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 71 

They scour all creation, 

They splash and they splatter; 
Assert and deny, 

They chatter and chatter ; 
They boast and defy, 

They fawn and they flatter; 
Laud some to the sky 

And some they bespatter ; 
Soil a fair name 

With a slanderous touch, 
Then atone for the same 

With wipe at the smutch. 
Go the full tether 

Of bluster and bluff, 
And all sneeze together 

When Croesus takes snuff. 

With daily reports 
Of gambling resorts 
And racing and sports 
Displayed in red ink 
Or printed on pink; 
With columns of preaching 
And ethical teaching. 
Severe moral strictures 
And prize-fighting pictures, 
Gossip kept humming 
And demagogues blowing, 
They catch the crowd coming 
And catch the crowd going. 



72 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

Round and round they dance, 
Then tip-toe down the middle, 

Recede and then advance — 
The devil plays the fiddle. 

Out and in they waltz with sin, 

And when the play is loud, 
Under cover of the din, 

They work the gaping crowd, 
The crowd is for Reform of course 

And every man and boy 
Turns out to whoop the Trojan horse. 

In through the gates of Troy. 

They'll advertise a quack 
Or boost along a fake. 

And prove that white is black 
For the money that they take. 
They tell you in their ads 
Of stuff to make your hair grow 

And sure cure liver pads; 

For money makes the mare go. 
And money pays for ads. 

They tell you twice a day 

That Mrs. Jingo P. 
Has just arrived or gone away 

To London or Paris; 
What Mrs. Jingo has to say, 

And how she sips her tea ; 
Where she sat when at the play, 

And how she felt at sea ; 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 73 

What Mrs. Jingo thinks, 

When she's sad, and when she's gay. 
When she smiles, and when she winks. 

For Mr. Jingo P, 
The man who pays the freight, 

He runs a famous hostelry, 
And is a man of weight. 

With lofty view and noble aim 

Paraded day by day, 
They ever play a sordid game 

To make the paper pay. 
And no matter what they claim, 

Or what the Owl may say. 
We all know just the same 

That they are run that way. 



THE GENTLE SHEPHERDS. 

The gentle shepherd guards his sheep. 

Attends with patient care ; 
And always near the grazing flock 

In quiet shady nook, 
We see a shepherd standing there 

Reclining on his crook. 

The faithful shepherd loves his sheep, 
His barns are filled with hay ; 

He drives the bleating flock afield, 
He keeps the wolves at bay ; 



74 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

And always, too, of yellow corn 

His granaries are full; 
But then his hose are knit of yarn, 

His coat is wove of wool. 

The shepherd dines on mutton steak. 

Hath mutton too, to ship; 
And always, when the sheep are shorn, 

THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP. 

The shepherds of the toiling throng 

Likewise on guard are found 
Attentive to the straying herd 

When wolves come prowling round ; 
And then the shepherds all about 

Come flying o'er the green ; — 
"Protect the helpless poor", they shout, 

"O save the poor from Butterine!" 

The faithful shepherds with their crooks. 

They guard the humble poor, 
And while they eat, watch over them 

To see their food is "pure". 
The shepherds all have tender hearts. 

That most intently yearn 
To serve the poor with butter from 

The faithful shepherds' churn. 
And when they eat, or fresh or canned. 

Their meat is clean and nice; 
It bears the loving shepherds' brand. 

Likewise the shepherds' price. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 75 

They would inspect their breeches too, 

To know if they be cheap, 
And made of shoddy, or of wool 

Shorn from the shepherd's sheep. 

The shepherd dines on mutton steak, 

Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
And always, when the sheep are shorn, 

THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CLIP. 

Along the winding trail of years 

The shepherds true their flocks pursue, 

All armed with crooks and shears, 
And patient watch; nor cease. 

The while they on their crooks recline, 
To note the growing fleece. 

The shepherd with the crook divine. 

He gathers in the strays, 
He herds the flock, and calls them "mine," 

And sings a song of praise 
Of fields where pastures green are found, 

And ever flowing rills. 
Where joy and love and peace abound 

Beyond the sun-set hills. 
And thus the bleating flock forlorn 

Is by the shepherd tolled 
Along the pathways old and worn 

Into the shepherd's fold. 



76 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

The shepherd dines on mutton steak, 

Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
And always, when the sheep are shorn, 

THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CUr. 

Where'er the winding trail may lead, 

O'er plain or hill or hollow. 
O'er barren heath, or grassy mead, 

The faithful shepherds follow. 
By shady stream, or sunny brook, 

Wherever strays the nibbling herd, 
Always in some sequestered nook, 

A watchful shepherd, day by day, 

Reclines upon his crook 
And listens to a twittering bird 

That sings to him alway : — 

"The shepherd dines on mutton steak. 

Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
And always, when the sheep are shorn, 

THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP. 

Sometimes a shepherdness appears 

Who swings a moral crook. 
The reckless little lambs, she fears, 

May tumble in the brook. 
She shakes her crook at naughty rams, 

And keeps an eye on guard 
To curb the glee of frisky lambs 

That shake their tails too hard. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 77 

Her soul with sympathy is stirred; 

She hears each plaintive bleat, 
And also hears that twittering bird 

Whose song is ever sweet : — 
"The shepherd dines on mutton steak 

Hath mutton, too, to ship, 
And always, when the sheep are shorn, 

THE SHEPHERD GETS THE CEIP." 
THE CEOWN GROWS SERIOUS. 

Oh when will man unselfishly 

Stand loyal to the right; 
And when will Christian charity 

Control instead of might? 

The weak no more be trampled down, 

Or rudely thrust aside 
To clear the way for mace and gown 

And vulgar churls who ride? 

And when will cruel strife abate. 

And right and justice lead, 
Control the man and rule the State 

Instead of selfish greed ? 

And when will cannon cease to roar 

Destroying human life. 
And men no longer march to war 

To tune of drum and fife ? 



78 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

How long, in name of Liberty, 

Shall hypocrites parade, 
And in the name of Destiny 

Make robbery a trade? 

Shall mercenaries flaunt the flag, 
And Mercy scorn and flout, 

And Justice ever halt and lag, 
While vaunting braggarts shout, 

And sing paeans of victory? 

And shall their loud huzzas 
Usurp the reign of Liberty, 

Of Justice, and her laws? 

How long shall fruit of patient toil 
Be heaped in hoards of wealth, 

The gathered booty and the spoil 
Of ruthless might or stealth ? 

And shall the right to work and live. 
In land where men are free. 

Be held a boon a few may give, 
Or may deny to me ? 

Or shall I cringe with fawning smirlc 
Where wealth and greed combine. 

And ask the mob for leave to work, 
My hands no longer mine ? 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 79 

And will the unresisting poor, 

Content to wait and pray, 
Forever patiently endure? 

Is there no other way ? 

Or will they, shouting fierce and loud, 

The voice of Reason drown, 
And under feet of surging crowd, 

But tramp each other down ? 

I do not know ; I cannot say, 

I only am the clown. 
But this I know : It is their way 

To tramp each other down. 

The power that monarchs held of old, 

That power is all their own ; 
But now they bow to King of gold. 

And grovel at his throne. 

Oh, will they never, never, see 

The broader larger view. 
And in accord and sympathy, 

Be to each other true? 

Or still pursuing selfish schemes, 

Each racing on for gain, 
End all their hopes in faded dreams, 

While Justice pleads in vain ? 



80 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

Of demagogues the sport and pray. 

They rally at their call, 
Thinking only of today, 

Or thinking not at all. 

Like hungry fish they snap the bait, 

Heedless of barb within. 
Then wriggle on the line, while Fate 

Keeps slowly winding in. 

And so, however much we wish 

To end the reign of Might, 
The clown, he thinks that men will fish 

Till gudgeons cease to bite. 

The time, he fears, may never come. 
When men will do the right, 

And cease to march to fife and drum 
Till bull-dogs cease to fight. 

For Self will rule with stern command, 
Nor yield the power to Love ; — 

The world will ever feel his hand. 
Though cased in silken glove. 

The rude and strong with eager rush 

To reach the tempting lure. 
Not heeding whom they bruise or crush, 

Will trample on the poor. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 81 

The weak will still be crowded out, 

Or ground beneath the heel 
Of surging mob whose lusty shout 

Will drown their sad appeal. 

"You are no longer needed now," 

Will many times be said 
Unto the man with furrowed brow. 

When youth and hope are fled. 

"Go find a place some other where; 

We cast away the old." 
And the man with silvered hair 

Will shiver in the cold. 

Such is the law of selfish strife, 

The cruel social creed. 
That shuts the sunlight out of life, 

And makes a god of greed. 



We find this world, as we go through, 

Is full of self and sin. 
Of love and hate in mixed ragout, 

From London to Pekin. 

And selfishness you cannot quell 
By singing hymns of Watts; — 

You can't put out the tires of hell 
With little sprinkle-pots. 



82 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

The fires of Hell are human sins; 

And gentlemen of cloth 
All use that fire to warm their shins 

And stew their daily broth. 

And no one wants the hose turned on 

Except he point the spot; 
For no one wants the hose turned on 

The fire that boils his pot. 

And presidential candidate, 

As well as common squire, 
And e'en a governor of state 

Will sometimes poke the fire. 

We chase the devil round the stumps. 

We make a loud halloo; 
And by that means we fool the chumps. 

But don't fool me and you. 

We organize a grand crusade 

To drive all sin away ; — 
The captain wears a big cockade, 

And banners flutter gay. 

We all chip in to give them aid, 

The band begins to play — 
A splendid show out on parade! 

They make a grand display. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 83 

We march in party phalanx strong 

And battle for the right 
With noble speech and ringing song; 

We make a valiant fight. 

And when the victory is won 

We "turn the rascals out" ; 
Then do the things that they have done! — 

'Tis only turn about. 

'Tis "ride and hitch" ; the patient ass 

Of riders gets a change ; 
But seldom gets a change of grass — 

The same old thistle range. 

The saddle still is on his back ; 

And though the ass go lame, 
The demagogue, the priest and quack 

Will ride him just the same. 

His back is bent by heavy loads. 

He freezes in the storm ; 
And then his flanks are pricked with goads 

To make the ass reform. 

But little heeds he prod or clack ; 

Though he would seldom balk, 
H they who sit astride his back 

Would just get off and walk. 



84 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

On staff poked out beyond his nose 
They dangle wisps of hay, 

That keep advancing as he goes 
To toll him on the way. 




The priest, he guides him through the fog 
That shrouds him day by day, 

While over hill and through the bog 
We hear his mournful bray. 

And with the quack and demagogue 

To wheedle and cajole, 
The patient ass, with steady jog. 

Pursues the fleeing goal. 

And though a thousand years shall pass, 
Death knells of centuries toll, 

They still will ride the weary ass, 
And still sit cheek by jowl. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

The weary ass in vain has tried 
To toss them in the air ; — 

The defnag-ogue comes down astride 
And still sits smiling there. 



85 




And should he sometime shy and jump 
And dump the priest and quack, 

The demagogue he cannot dump ; 
And soon they'll all be back. 

And then, though scarred and saddle sore, 
He still will chase the goal ; — 

They'll ride him for ten thousand more, 
While years in cycles roll. 



The social problem of today 

Is how to banish sin, 
Yet not disturb the game we play, 

Or hope to play and win. 



86 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

That problem, ever much the same, 

Is how to throttle crime, 
Yet not disturb a quiet game 

That we play all the time. 

Reformers ever will abound. 

Out on the winding trails 
These tabby cats whirl round and round 

And chase their flying tails. 

We keep decrying sin and pelf; 

But sin will still prevail ; — 
The tabby cat won't bite himself, 

Though he may chase his tail. 

And so the world keeps running on 

Today as yesterday ; — 
And so 'twill be when we are gone ; 

The world was made that way. 

The light and shade. 

The Night and Day, twin sisters they ; — 

They tag each other round ; 
The Light and Shade have always played 
\ Over the same play ground. 

They always play together. 

They flit across the leas, 
And play among the heather; — 

They dance among the trees — 
The Light and Shade together. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 87 

Both joy and woe will come and go; 

The tide must ever ebb and flow ; 
And passion's fire, hate and desire, 

Will fiercely burn and glow 
And slowly then expire. 

Sunshine and rain, pleasure and pain, 

Our hopes and fears, our smiles and tears, 

All follow in one train. 

Like Day and Night, like bloom and 
blight, 

All pleasures wax and wane. 

Every hill doth have its hollow ; 

Every shield hath its reverse; 
Every joy some grief to follow ; 

Every pleasure hath its curse. 
Sometimes we freeze, sometimes we burn, 

And gods and devils reign in turn. 

In life's alloy, both grief and joy, 

The bitter and the sweet; 
The gay and sad, both good and bad, 

To make a life complete. 

We first are gay, and then we pray ; — 

The Night comes after Day; 
We smile and sigh, we laugh and cry — 

The light and shadow play; — 

We live and die; — 
The world was made that way. 



88 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 



AN INTERRUPTION. 

Then came a shout : 
"Fresh lemonade! 
Good lemonade ! 
Your fresh, cool lemonade!" 
A voice rang out. 

The clown was still ; 
But when the lad had gone, 
The Clown again sang on ; 
His voice was clear and shrill 

"Don't be too meek, 

But push your cheek, 

Don't be shy; 

Don't be afraid. 

Make people buy 
Your fresh cool lemonade. 

Keep up the din, 

Rake in the tin : — 
That is the way of trade." 



FINAL EXHORTATION. 

The Clown Grows Cynical. 

Keep fighting sin, keep up the din, 

When ever it will pay ; 
Lampoon old Nick, make him step quick, 

But don't drive Nick away. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 80 

Just swing your stick, give him a lick, 

Whenever he gets gay. 
He will adjourn, but soon return ; 

He will be back next day. 

When he comes back, get on his track, 

And flourish then your stick; 
Give him a crack, a sounding whack, 

But careful; don't hurt Nick. 

Don't strike too hard; he's our old pard; 

But just keep up the play. 
Keep fighting sin ; keep up the din ; 

But Nick is here to stay. 




90 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

The dog must howl and wail; 
The dog must bite, the dog must fight, 

The dog must wag his tail. 
The seasons come, the season's go ; 

Summer's bloom succeeds the snow. 
We smile and sigh, we laugh and cry, 

The light and shadow play; 
Then over all the shadows 'fall, 

And Night comes after day. 



The harlequin sat down, 
'Twas but a ribald song 
Sung by a painted clown ; 

But at the close. 
From the assembled throng, 
Cheer on cheer arose, 
Applause was loud and long. 

THE CLOWN IS SAD. 

The clown was sad ; 
A muffled undertone, 
A voice that was not glad. 
Revealed a stifled moan. 
We knew the clown was sad. 
But when the cheers were gone 
The clown again arose 
And then again sang on. 
He sang in softer tone, 
And sang a sweeter song. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 91 

He sang with gentle art ; — 
But still that stifled moan, — 
Moan of a wounded heart. 

HIS SONG. 

Methought I sang too long; 

But now you call for more; 

You listen to his song 

And give the clown en core. 

You thank me for my song; 

I thank you for your cheers. 

For time is rolling on, 

The clown grows old in years. 

And, though blythe and gay he seems, 

The clown will soon be gone 

To land we see in dreams, 

Tliat land of hope and fear. 

The clown will go alone — 

The clown is lonely here. 

Through scenes of toil and strife 

Always his fate to roam. 

The clown, he leads a wandering life, 

He makes the world his home. 

He sings a merry song 

To cheer the weary heart; 

He mingles with the passing throng, 

And gaily plays his part. 

And still the battered clown 

Will strive to do his best, 

And help the sad old world to drown 

Its sorrow in a jest. 



d2 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

But sight is growing dim ; 
His hair is turning gray; 
Old Time is calHng him, 
Is calHng him away; 
And the jovial old buffoon, 
Though he be blythe and gay, 
And sing a merry tune, 
Commingling with his rhyme 
He hears a sad refrain, 
The tuneless voice of Time 
Again and yet again 
Calling him away. 

Old Time, as he goes by, 
He calls to king and clown, — 
Waits not for song nor sigh. 
Nor heeds he smile or frown ; 
For all alike must die. 
The roses bloom and fade. 
And all things pass away ; — 
The sunlight, then the shade ; — 
The Night comes after Day. 

The clown has sung to you 
A song that may seem queer; 
For he has told you true 
How things to him appear. 
Though strange to you, no doubt, 
The clown has learned to know 
The inside and the out; — 
He travels with the show. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 93 

If you would have the proof, 
Just turn the outside in ; 
Look at the seamy side ; — 
The seams are stitched with sin 
And covered up with pride; 
And woven in one woof, 
Both good and bad abide. 
All twisted in the thread. 
The fibers from the heart 
By the spindle of the head, 
Can ne'er be pulled apart. 

For in the loom of Fate 
Are mixed the false and true, 
Selfish desire and hate, 
Love, fear and envy too; 
And pure sweet sympathy. 
Faith, Hope and Charity, 
For the living and the dead. 
Are woven through and through, 
And mingled in the thread ; 
Bright strands of silken floss 
That on the surface show 
In sheen of shimmering gloss. 

But ever underneath, 
To give the fabric strength. 
Encased in silken sheath, 
The warp of self and sin. 
Throughout the shining length. 
Is woven in and in. 



94 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

To hold the strands in place 
That give to life its glow 
Of beauty and of grace. 

The Night and Day, 

Twin sisters they, 
They tag each other round; 

The light and shade 

Have always played 
Over the same play ground. 

Today we're glad, 

Tomorrow sad; 

We smile and sigh, 

Exult and pray; 

We laugh and cry; — 
The light and shadow play; — 
Throw the shuttle to and fro, 
Weave our web, and then we go. 

We live and die — 
The Night comes after Day. 

Good bye. 



The clown was gone ; the seats were bare. 
I looked ; there were no people there. 
The tent rose up, hung in the air 
A moment, and then went sailing away 
Out over the harbor and over the bay; 
And on and on for a night and a day 

It sailed, and sailed. 
It was the balloon of the man from the Moon. 



THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 95 

I sat in the basket, was carried along 
Sailing into the etherial blue, 
Jingling the rhyme of the harlequin's song, 
Watching the sky for a hole to sail through, 
When a tramp comet came dodging about 
Jostled the basket and tumbled me out ; — 




And I began to shoot 

Through the air like a rocket— 
I knew it by the flutter of my gown. 
I opened up a Bryan parachute 
That I carried in my pocket 
And came slowly sailing down. 

And while circling round and round 
^ Like a swallow on the wing, 
I heard a distant, murmuring sound, 



96 THE SONG OF THE CLOWN 

I heard an angel sing: — 

"Hosan-an-ana ; 

Hosan-an-ana ; — 

And then a hum and buzz — 

"Banan, anana, 

Banan-an-ana ; — 

Twenty cent a doz" ; 

As the angel came along; 

"Banan, banan, banan," 

The finish of my song. 

For then I lit. A wild and piercing wail — 

The Night Mare jumped and away she flew ; 

And all I saw was a flash of blue 

At the open door where the mare went through, 

A swish of her flying tail. 

* * * 

I heard the traffic on the street, 

A rumble far away; 
I heard the sound of tramping feet, 

I heard a child at play. 
I heard a bird chirp in a tree, 

A song so happy, clear and sweet, 
That I looked out to see. 
The sun again was in the sky, 
A smiling world all clothed in light 
Unto my dream made this reply, 
"The Day comes after Night." 

END. 



JAN K ]9]y 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



i i t&H) 



